


A Startling Revelation.

by Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage



Series: Secrets and Saviours [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha John Watson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of illegal suppressants, Omega Sherlock, Omega Sherlock Holmes, Omega Verse, Rating is for chapter 3/4, Smut, Some Fluff, Some Plot, Was originally PWP, drug mention, kind of?, mentions of Baskerville
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-16 14:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/pseuds/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage
Summary: It started with a text.John, I'm sending you on a case in Wales. SHThat seems innocent enough, right? The truth, however, is far from it. Who would have known that Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting detective, was an omega?





	1. The Text

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is only the first part in a series I am putting together based on a roleplay between a friend and I! So bear with it, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

It started with a single text message, innocent and short.  
  
**John. I'm sending you on a case in Wales. SH**  
  
John Watson, doctor, ex-soldier, knew better than to take things at face value. Indeed, he had learned this lesson many years ago, when he had presented as an alpha at age eleven he had learned _I'm so proud of you, Johnny_ to be _thank the heavens you're not an omega._ Through med school he learned _just one drink_ could equally mean _prepare for the hangover tomorrow._ In the warmth of a lover's arms he had learned _you're a nice guy_ to also mean _you're not the alpha I thought you were_. In Afghanistan he had learned _you're a good man_ to equally mean _you're a murderer._ Only when he had encountered Sherlock Holmes at St. Barts hospital did he realise _Afghanistan or Iraq?_ to mean equally _I'm about to change your life._  
  
So, what could be said about a text like this? At first glance it may appear unimpeachable, something about it felt odd. No, better yet, it felt wrong. At a second look he could take apart this message and realise just what about it was bothering him; perhaps Sherlock had been rubbing off on him. There were two problems with this text, the first of which was its location. Wales, why Wales? Their range for cases tended to remain around London area, with the Baskerville case on Dartmoor a single exception. That morning Sherlock hadn't mentioned any new case. In fact there was a pile in the detective's inbox of cases that he had given his stamp of approval, so why would he suddenly pick up something new? This lead John to his second suspicion regarding this text. From the language used it implied that he would be sent, alone, on a case. If there was such a circumstance in which the pair would have to make the journey, it would have been a good case, a nine or ten. But then, Sherlock would have rather given a limb than leave John to take care of it alone.  
  
This, in its own way, was Sherlock Holmes' way of distracting him. Well, he was no idiot, thank you very bloody much! Irritation coiled in his diaphragm and he inhaled deeply, counting to three. _One, I'm not going to throttle him. Two, I'm not going to do it. Three, bugger it I'm going to throttle him._ On the exhale, he reached and pressed his thumb down on the little green phone icon and watched as the screen went to dial. Another inhale, this time the count to two before he raised the phone to his ear and listened to the man on the other line pick up.  
  
" _Wales?_ " He said through a sigh, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The sheer ridiculous of it all caused disdain to stain his voice, eliciting a huff of arrogance from his flatmate. "Care to explain why?"  
  
_"Well, I thought you could try a case of your own. Is that such a problem?"_  
  
"Sherlock, you and I both know that you wouldn't send me out on a case without you. You make it known I'm an idiot almost daily, that I don't think on the same level as you. Why aren't you coming with me?"  
  
_"I have more important things to do here-"_  
  
"More important?" John paused at this, listening to the way the other man's voice sounded pinched. It was like he was thick with flu, his throat tight and painful. "What's going on?"  
  
_"Nothing is going on, John."_  
  
"Don't lie to me, you berk. You sound sick, you weren't sick this morning."  
  
_"I might be mildly incapacitated right now, but it nothing I can't get over. Look, the case-"_  
  
"The case can bloody wait!"   
  
John heard Sherlock's voice hitch, then his throat be cleared as though to cover for it. Something curled in his stomach, his brows knitting together as he leaned against the wall outside of the local Tesco. The anger that had started to bubble simmered and then faded, well placed concern taking over as he mumbled an apology into the receiver.  
  
_"The case will take you about a week I predict. Your ticket has already been covered, your suitcase is already in the hallway."_  
  
"Sherlock, no. Are you in danger? Is that what the hell's going on?"  
  
" _There is no danger, John. Think of it as a holiday._ " There was a pause, the detective clearing his throat once again. " _It also prevents the risk that you will get sick too, you always complain that dealing with me while sick is difficult._ "  
  
"I am a doctor, remember? That is the exact opposite of what I'm supposed to do. I'm not about to abandon you-"  
  
_"This isn't something you can fix, John."_  
  
Again, something that should have been taken at face value. But there was something in the way Sherlock's voice dropped an octave, hinting on aggression and perhaps even desperation in his new tone of voice. John frowned, tightening his grip on his phone and trying to school his annoyance at the melodramatics. With a roll of his eyes he shifted his weight onto his left leg, his upper body shifting onto its side against the bricked wall.  
  
"Look, nothing you're saying is making me want to leave you alone right now. Please, just tell me what's going on?"   
  
There was silence for a moment, this singular moment drawing out and feeling like an eternity. Time slowed, the only thing existing being John's heart rate (when had it suddenly kicked up a notch?) and Sherlock's steady breathing, before the life returned to the colourless streets of London and the reply came.  
  
_"You cannot fix biology, John."_  
  
What in buggering hell was that meant to mean? Biting the inside of his cheek, John turned the words over in his head, it clear that Sherlock was waiting for a reaction of some kind. Slowly, all too slowly, he began to pull the pieces together to this little puzzle that had struck him on a Thursday afternoon. Their jagged edges began to linen up in his mind, creating a picture that he had truly seen all along, but never observed. His breath caught in his throat and induced a coughing fit, the sound of his splutters pathetic to his own ears.  
  
"Biology? You mean like-"  
  
_"A heat, yes."_  
  
A heat, or _aestus_ as his mind supplied helpfully. The process in which an omega underwent as regular as clockwork every four months. John knew about it from a medical standpoint, of course. The omega's scent gland, located just a mere two inches (give or take) below the ear, would swell over the course of a week and release a spray of pheromones. These pheromones would only be traceable to those with the alpha gene and would induce a state best known as rut ( _lubido_ ). Both heat and rut bring out a base desire to breed in an alpha and omega, naturally allowing partners to find each other. Unfortunately it is these desires which mean that many omegas come into hospitals in droves covered in injuries while they writhe with the sickly need for an alpha. John had seen it briefly in training, but due to his own classification he was unable to work with omegas during this time.  
  
"Christ," he managed to say at last, the burning in his throat gone but a dryness having taken its place. Sherlock, the man he'd assumed had been a beta, was in fact an omega. He had been living with an omega all of this time without knowing.  
  
_"The misfortune of omega biology, I'm afraid. Breathe, John."_  
  
How could he sound so casual about all of this?! How on earth could he drop a bombshell like that and expect him to be as calm as he was?  
  
"Wait, you've not gone into heat while I've been living with you? I've been living with you for three years now, Sherlock. How have you not gone into heat?" Already John had an inkling, one that reminded him of Mycroft Holmes' commentary about certain habits the younger Holmes had picked up. "Suppressants? I'm going to guess not the good ones if you haven't gotten hold of any straight away."  
  
_"Unfortunately my supplier has... become unavailable. I believed I would have longer to get hold of something new."_  
  
"You've been hiding... all of this time. I, Jesus, look- I understand why you don't want me there. But still, I'm not sure I need to go all the way to Wales, do I?"  
  
Another momentary silence, Sherlock seeming to be mulling the options over one by one.  
  
_"I was more concerned about your comfort, John."_  
  
"Christ, Sherlock, I would be fine. I'll find a hotel or something, but I have some groceries here that I'll need to drop off."  
  
_"How can you know how you will feel, John? Have you ever actually encountered an omega in heat, or are you using your textbook knowledge that may as well have been a book of fairy-tales. You are aware it is alphas who write those, aren't you?"_ Sherlock's voice came through harsh, snappish, and despite John's usual intolerance of such behaviour he couldn't help but try to calm the other man.  
  
"Easy... I know they aren't the most accurate resource. I may not have been around many omegas in heat Sherlock but I can handle putting some groceries away and grabbing some clothes, alright? If you're that worried stay in your room until I've gone, lock the bloody door and it'll be fine."  
  
_"... Fine. Come to the flat and see if you can stand being so close. You can leave the moment you realise it's too much and I will be in my bedroom."  
  
_ "Look, as a doctor I have to ask... How long has it been since-?"  
 _  
"I was nineteen."  
  
_ "What the fuck? You know how bloody dangerous that is?!"   
_  
"Just come here and prove me right."  
_  
"I'll be home in about twenty minutes, alright? Look either way it's going to be fine. You'll be alright."  
  
With that the line went dead and John slouched a little bit against the wall, shaking his head weakly. Alright, so, he wasn't going to Wales, Sherlock was an omega and was in heat. That was... an awful lot to process. But here outside of Tesco wasn't the best idea, not at all. With a sigh he pushed off of the wall, clenching down on the tremor in his left hand as he observed the CCTV following him carefully. Ah, so big brother was in on the whole thing. Resisting the urge to flip off the camera he began the walk home, worry coming off of him in waves.  _  
  
Well,_ he thought to himself, _here goes nothing._

 


	2. The Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tests his resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait guys! The next chapters shouldn't take as long to come out! Thank you all for the feedback, bookmarks, subscriptions and kudos so far! I hope you enjoy.

Even from the downstairs entryway from the moment he closed the front door he could smell it. Jesus, Sherlock's scent was strong. Strong and sweet, it lingered in his nostrils, invisible tendrils burying into his skin and tugging as though on a flimsy string; as weak as spider silk. John took a slow, deep breath and pressed forward, making it upstairs with his groceries. At the top landing he spotted his suitcase and the ticket for his 'trip to Wales', giving a roll of his eyes before heading into the flat and kicking the door shut behind him. 

The strength of Sherlock's scent was no problem, not at first, he discovered as he headed into the kitchen to put away the groceries. Then his hands began to shake and his head began to feel a bit funny; a headache in the first stages of development. Careful as he went he completed the task with a nod of satisfaction, pleased he hadn't dropped anything as he went with how useless his hands were being. With no sign of Sherlock he decided to walk into the sitting room and take a seat in his armchair, having the restraint to not look down the hallway. There was a surge of that sweet scent that hit his nose. He dropped his heads into his hands. 

In all of John's life he had never encountered an omega's scent in the midst of heat. He had envisioned it to be much sweeter than this, almost sickly; candy apples and caramel. But instead he was met with the faint smell of honey and the freshness of an autumn breeze. It was pleasant, something that John would have gulped in greedily if he didn't know the true origin of its source. He had to remember that this was Sherlock, who was trusting him enough to test if he could stand being in the flat. And during the first heat he was experiencing after two decades too! Finally he pulled his head from his hands and reached for his phone, deciding that would be the best way to contact the man presumably locked in his bedroom. 

**Well, I can't say I'm unaffected. It's strong, got a bit of a headache so far. JW**

He waited with bated breath for Sherlock's response, nervously thumbing the corner of his phone while listening out for any shuffling from down the hallway. It was a good sign he hadn't been kicked out yet, maybe they could work out something after all. When his phone buzzed with its reply he gave a sympathetic hum to no one in particular. 

**That doesn't surprise me, John. I'm not planning to be out of my room for anything beyond a bathroom break should I be able to manage it. You know the moment my door opens you will be struggling to cope, don't you? Would you want to test that? SH**

Really, the fact Sherlock was suggesting something so risky should be a telling factor in just how little the man was thinking. If he was quite honest, the thought of testing his resolve to such a degree did worry the doctor a fair amount; especially when every single movement had begun to feel like it was underwater, his head being the most waterlogged of all. But, he reasoned with himself, so long as he stayed in his chair he shouldn't be tempted, right? John took a deep breath, reminding himself that Sherlock could need a doctor close by if this heat provide complications. He could call for help should the omega need it. With that, he rapidly sent his reply.

**We'll try it quickly, alright? I'll stay in my chair. If I leave it, return to your room and lock the door. I will leave immediately. JW**

The wait for Sherlock's response was agonising. Friendly concern, not as platonic as he perhaps would admit, kept him glued to his seat and holding his breath. It wasn't uncommon for these things to happen, a voice in the back of his mind had begun to coo in his ear. If he merely rose onto his feet, approached the door, neither of them would hold out on their instincts for long. How could they? 

**Alright, I'm going now. SH**

The text came through and broke John from his thoughts, his face scrunching up in disgust at himself. Was he really no better than the alpha's who would just take what they want while charged by their base instincts? No. They were more than mere animals, more than slaves to their biology. This was Sherlock Holmes, and he was John Watson! 

The bedroom door opened and there was the sound of padding feet heading towards the bathroom. John's fingers dug into the arms of his chair, the tips whitening under the pressure. That honeyed scent plumed through the air, an invisible veil of pheromones that begged a single message. Come to me. One hand rose from the chair to bury into blond locks, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp and the sting enough to keep him present enough in mind. This wasn't so bad, he reasoned. If he spent enough time upstairs and communicated with Sherlock by phone, they could work this out. Couldn't they? 

Except, every step the other man took he could track. It was almost like a sixth sense, his minds eye following his movements to the bathroom with surprising clarity. Had he ever felt this before? There wasn't a time he could remember, even in medical school he had never been subjected to this. Perhaps he should have been, it might have helped him maintain control now. 

The door closed with a click and there was the slide of the latch. John scrambled for his phone.

**I'm still able to maintain control. I think so long as I'm not in the same room as you and keep my room upstairs aired out, it should be alright for me to monitor you through text. You can also warn me when you plan to come out of your room and we can work around it. JW**

After a moment, he sent another text.

**Though, I can't say I'm completely unaffected by you. If you want me to leave, I will. JW**

There was the sound of the loo being flushed and John was acutely aware of the sound of the tap being run in the sink. Was Sherlock being affected by his being here? There was that voice again, floating in the back of his mind. Wondering if the omega could sense him just like he could, if his own pheromones were driving him mad. This wasn't right. He should be leaving. He should have taken the ticket to Wales, anything other than this. But at the same time, he didn't want to leave. Sherlock hadn't had a heat in so long, he could be at serious risk by being left alone. What if anyone tried to visit? What if a client showed up who was an alpha? What if they caught his scent? A growl was already bubbling in his throat when he felt his phone buzz.

**I'm about to go back to my bedroom, John. If you need to go, go. If you're able to stay, I concede it may be wise to have a doctor nearby. I trust your decision. SH**

Why? Why did Sherlock trust him with this? He was an alpha, he was just as susceptible to an omega in heat as any poor bastard on the street. Why had he persuaded himself and his friend that this was okay? That he could handle it? This was such a bad idea! Before he could type an answer, the door opened and that sweet smell wiped away his fears. 

Sherlock's footsteps were slower now, a little more sluggish. His left foot was dragging, almost forming a limp but not quite. John could hear the drag of fingers against the wallpaper, could hear the soft puffs of breath from the brunets nostrils as though the short walk was much more effort than it should be. He was hyperaware of the way the other man hesitated as he neared his bedroom door, lingering with his hands now bracing against the wooden doorframe for support. The eyes scorching into the back of his head shouldn't have brought such a flame to the pit of John's gut. He must have made a sound, a grunt as he shifted in his chair to cross one leg over the other, because the way Sherlock's breath caught in his throat seemed to have a direct line to the fire building within. 

Minutes passed and John held his breath, his eyes shut tight and his teeth buried into the flesh of his bottom lip. Had Sherlock gone into his room yet? Had he just not heard the movement? Without daring to turn his head, he hesitated to open his mouth. "Sherlock?" He called, his voice surprisingly even if not a little huskier than usual. "Are you alright?"

The sound of a single step in his direction caused John's heart to lurch into his throat, his eyes fluttering open but not turning towards the sound. Following that there was silence, deafening silence that made it feel as though time itself had slowed to a stop. For a single moment, the clock didn't tick, the exhale from John's lungs had frozen in place, the subsequent inhale of Sherlock's had locked up too. For a single moment, it was just them, them and the silence that spoke volumes. John prayed for some sort of sarcastic response, some indication that his friend was still himself. But, as time seemed to crawl back into motion, the clocks ticking and the sound of breathing filling the air, Sherlock merely turned away and padded into his bedroom; the door left open and the sound of a body crumpling into the sheets reaching the alpha's ears. 

Christ, this had been such a bad idea. John's hands trembled as he once more grasped the arms of his chair. Sherlock had either not had the strength to shut the door or he... no. He hadn't left the door open in invitation, he wouldn't have been so careless. There was no way. With a low growl he reached for his phone, unlocking it and then thinking better of it. Sherlock could hear him right now, why bother text? 

"Sherlock, you didn't... you didn't shut the door!"

There was a soft sound emitted in reply (Christ, did he just whine?!) and the sound of sheets being shifted about before the reply came. 

"Astute observation, John. One might take that as permission to come in."

John choked on a gasp almost immediately and his body lurched to his feet without permission, his eyes narrowed down at the door that should have been shut.

"You're... not in the right mind. You don't want this, you're in heat." He began walking towards the empty doorway, his eyes glued to the floor in a bid to fight against his instinct. When he saw the floorboards change to the carpet he stopped, his fingers blindly reaching for the door handle to pull it closed. "It could be any alpha, it-"

"Don't be insulting." Sherlock growled, though it was as though the venom had been sapped from his voice and replaced with velvet. The omega moved on his bed, just out of John's vision, and uttered a whine as he stretched. "You think I'd entertain the idea of you being here during this if I didn't want this? Want you?" 

Well, the fact Sherlock was speaking in full sentences showed some kind of clarity. John could take relief in that, though not in the way his thoughts were becoming clouded. He wanted to claim, to see Sherlock through his heat and he knew deep down in his heart he wouldn't want the man for only this heat. This was his best friend, the only man he'd ever cared for to such a degree. One may even argue it was love. 

"Sherlock," John whispered, his grip bleaching his knuckles white. "I can't-"

"Please, John. Before the wave becomes too strong for me to think, before it robs me of clarity." Sherlock pleaded softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, look at me. See that I want this, appease your morals and then come here and do what we both know you want to. What I want you to do too."

The blond's eyes shot up immediately, his lips parting to speak but his mouth going dry at the sight of his flatmate. 

Sherlock was on his knees on the bed, a white bedsheet pooled around his hips and barely concealing his modesty as it tented rather tellingly. His bare, alabaster skin was flushed a rose pink from his face down to the top of his heaving chest. His dark curls were wild, matching the dark glint in those eyes that John had gotten lost in a few too many times. Bowed lips were curled into a knowing smile, the man's head tipped to reveal a long and rather delicate neck; the man's scent gland swollen below his right ear. Truly, he was gorgeous. The fact of the matter was the detective knew it too. 

"John," the man sighed, running a delicate hand over the hairless skin of his chest and over the expanse of his throat. "Please."

John uttered a soft curse, his fingers slowly detaching from the doorframe. With a few purposeful strides towards the bed his hands captured those sculpted cheeks and he stared into those eyes. A beat passed between them and Sherlock gave the slightest nod, then they came together and crashed their lips together in a scorching kiss.


	3. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go beyond social boundaries previously set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys! I'm actually going to Germany as of tomorrow!
> 
> So, uh, this is smut. I've not written any since Vermilion, so I hope this first nsfw chapter is okay! 
> 
> As always, thank you for every kudos, comment, bookmark and subscription! Until next time!

They fell amongst the sheets together; Sherlock sprawled onto his back and John hovering over his lithe frame while their lips refused to be parted for more than a few gasps of breath. The air was thick with the detective’s honeyed scent, a warm and pleasant haze falling over the alpha while impatient hands tugged at his jumper.

“Sherlock,” John whispered against his mouth, pulling back just enough to speak and watch him chase after his lips. The little while was very nearly overkill. “Sherlock, you can’t really...-“ _kiss_ , “- you don’t really...-“ _kiss_ , “-Christ.” 

“Shut up, John.” Sherlock grumbled, lowering his lips to John’s throat and suckling slowly. Delicate fingers trembled as they clasped the bottom of the woolen material that was obscuring his access to John. God, did John know how his scent was driving him crazy? Warm spice and a hint of gunpowder, a scent which only grew more powerful the longer John was exposed to his omega scent.

In the back of his mind, locked behind a steel door and chained to the adjoining wall, there was a voice there able to explain this physical reaction.That could explain just why from the moment John had walked into the flat he had known there was no way that he was leaving again. How he could hear John’s every shaken breath, how his scent though usually subtle had overpowered his senses and knocked the strength from his lungs. How a simple trip to the bathroom had been nearly impossible, for Sherlock was painfully close to dragging the man back to his room. But it took far too much concentration to summon up logic and reason as of now, leaving him in a strange sort of daze. That voice locked away in the depths of his mind palace was still there, whispering about how things were going to change from now on. If John left now, things would never be the same, the pair of them haunted by this afternoon. But, there was comfort to be taken from the breathless whimpers he could bring from him if he kissed at his throat, trailed a line up to his ear and flick his tongue against the shell. A graze of teeth, a hitch of breath, a throb of need and Sherlock’s thoughts were finally silent.

The jumper fell to the floor.

Electricity crackled beneath John’s fingertips as he trailed each digit up the detective’s torso, eliciting a soft but steady stream of gasps. The skin pimpled with goosebumps, alabaster turning to rose pink, and as he trailed over a nipple the whine that caught in Sherlock’s throat were almost enough to make him lose his head. Fingers curled into his silvering locks and tugged, driving him on without words, and it appealed to something deep within him. A low, soft growl of approval escaped his throat as he nuzzled across the brunette’s cheek, forcing himself to kneel back and fumble with the buttons of his shirt to toss it aside. When had his fingers started trembling? It didn’t escape his notice how Sherlock’s body undulated before him, unable to keep himself still.

“Stay still,” he growled, running his tongue over his teeth as the troublesome material finally fell away from his body. Finally he ducked back down and pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to Sherlock’s jaw, a crooning purr rumbling in the back of his throat as hands took purchase on his bare shoulders.

The omega’s head lolled back and exposed the expanse of his throat in surrender to John’s relentless kisses. His fingers trailed down the alpha’s torso slowly, deliberately, committing the feeling of muscle and flesh to memory. There was a soft sigh, though from which man it was up for debate, and Sherlock raised a long leg to wrap up and over John’s hips. It was the epitome of a submissive position. "John,” he murmured, his voice as soft as silk yet so full of yearning that it tugged John’s attention from the man’s throat. _Claim me_ , the unspoken plea hung in the air, _I’m yours_.

If John had known that they would be here now, he wasn’t entirely sure he would have changed a thing. The way Sherlock’s head was tipped back, leaving his throat completely exposed in a silent bid of trust, presenting for him, it was as though his mind wasn’t going to be able to keep up. The alpha hummed low in his throat, once again kissing and suckling along Sherlock’s jaw, tasting the sheen of sweat that caused the omega to glisten in the faded light. His scent was intoxicating. Slowly his lips blazed a trail down the hollow of Sherlock’s throat, over his clavicle, up and onto his shoulder were his lips crossed scarred skin. In the back of his mind he realised that he had never noticed the jagged line was, but he did notice the way his detective tensed and whimpered at the contact. All thoughts of the scar faded as his lips bumped clumsily against a bump of swollen skin, a moan rumbling deep within John’s throat as Sherlock keened.

It was the scent gland.

Despite Sherlock’s silent plea to be claimed, John was present enough in mind to not do anything so permanent. Sure, they may be about to cross any social boundaries previously set between them, but they were far from ready for that kind of commitment. Still, Sherlock’s _scent_. It was strongest there and damn it all, John felt like he was starved of it. He mouthed at the area, his tongue swiping broad strokes across it, making the brunette beneath him tremble and babble incoherently. To see Sherlock Holmes this undone was a marvel, one that the doctor could put down to his efforts and take pride in.

Resting his weight mostly on his right forearm, John’s left caressed the heated skin beneath him. They trailed down this time; over a sharp hipbone, along the curve of a quivering thigh, back down and over his sternum, enough to make the fingers in his hair tighten and tug in desperation. Finally, he let a hand ghost between them, avoiding the omega’s weeping erection as he went, his knuckles brushing against the shaft as Sherlock’s voice rose in anticipation. For a brief moment he cupped the man’s balls, gently massaging the sack and the usually composed detective was nearly crying. Not one for cruelty, John let his hand drift lower still, his eyes widening and a snarl caught in his throat at the feeling of wet between his fingertips.

“You’re so ready, aren’t you?” The alpha growled, his upper lip curling and exposing sharp canines as the pads of his fingers massaged around the man’s entrance. One by one they brushed against his sphincter and relishing the way it twitched. God, that was delicious. “Ready for me, wanting _me_ …”

Sherlock’s hips rolled downward against the glancing touches and a little growl rumbled, not quite as effective as John’s as his cock twitched guiltily against his stomach. But, it was when John looked up into his face did he realise just what an effect he had on the man. Sherlock’s face was flushed, his beautiful curls wild and sticking to his forehead as he shook his head from side to side. His eyes were closed, almost as though he couldn’t stand to watch, but the right one cracked open every now and then and the alpha was taken back by the haze which had clouded his eyes. Those pretty bow lips were parted, no linger able to filter the numerous gasps and sounds that tested John’s restraint to near the breaking point.

“Christ, you’re so… so gorgeous,” the words fell from his lips unbidden, a single finger circling the man’s entrance and collecting the next little gush of slick. “And you’re here, with me.” Finally, he slipped in his index finger to the knuckle, shuddering at the tight muscles fluttering around the foreign entry. He could relish in Sherlock’s sounds forever, the little grunts and whimpers he failed to stop, but this was as much about helping his friend than mutual relief. That is what he’d stayed for in the first place, wasn’t it?

“John, _please_ ,” came Sherlock’s breathless words, tempting and soft to the point John almost didn’t hear. His cheeks darkened a touch as he spoke, his brow furrowing as though speaking itself was an almost impossible task. John simply had to take pity, didn’t he?

“Alright, Sherlock,” John murmured, leaning over the man’s thin frame so he could kiss him with gentle assurance. His middle finger joined the first, rubbing against the contracting muscles and gently scissoring. To distract from potential discomfort, John’s lips dropped down to Sherlock’s chest, honing in on the man’s dusty coloured nipples. His eyes never left Sherlock’s face, calculating as his tongue encircled a pert bud and his lips formed a seal around it. He suckled, the omega arched into the sensation with a startled sounding _oh_.

Dainty fingers finally released his hair and fell upon John’s shoulders, gripping firmly as though fearing that the man would vanish should he let go; his nails leaving crescent shaped marks deep in his skin. With each push of John’s fingers, Sherlock could feel his body being manipulated to relax. Sparks went off wherever John’s lips fell, now lovingly paying attention to his nipples and occasionally rising to massage against his scent gland just enough to make him throb. He opened his mouth, about to snap at the alpha to get on with it when John crooked his fingers just so and his vision went white; the little voice in his head rising enough to helpfully provide the terms _prostate_ and _good_ and _more_.

John’s chuckle reached the omega’s ears and never before had a sound seemed so sinister. Sherlock’s eyes opened to peek as he felt the alpha move, an irrational fear that he was leaving rose and made him feel sick for a moment. A whimper tumbled from his lips and John looked up with concern, his eyes softening as he realised what the matter was.

“Sherlock, I’m not going anywhere.” He soothed, his fingers brushing past the man’s prostate to encourage him to relax. “I promise, I’m not leaving you. God, I’d be an idiot to do so.” Leaning to kiss those pretty lips again, merely a peck, then trailed kisses down and _down_ and _down_. John gave Sherlock no time to overthink and pressed a kiss to the weeping head of his erection, enjoying the wrecked sob it produced.

There was no time to waste, not with Sherlock on the verge of frustrated tears. John fully intended on helping his friend through this, in whatever capacity he was needed. With a grunt he swallowed Sherlock down to the base, his fingers relentless in their assault of his prostate. The moan he wrenched from Sherlock’s lips was enough to make him groan, his free hand palming at his own cock to try and ease some of the need. He timed his fingers thrust against that spot he made sure to pull his head back, his tongue running flat against the tip before he plunged back down. It was easy, incredibly easy to get himself into a rhythm, to lose himself in the cries of his name, so when the omega beneath him whined his name a whole octave higher than the rest he doubled his efforts. Sherlock’s fingers buried into John’s hair and he bucked his hips upward once, twice, and came with a hoarse shout.

Endorphins flooded his body and made him feel light as a feather, his fingers and toes tingling. John pulled back with a soft grunt, discreetly reaching for a tissue from the box beside Sherlock’s bed and clearing his mouth. There was a smile aimed in the detective’s direction, gentle, hiding the nerves that lingered in his gaze.

“Was… that okay, Sherlock?” He asked, voice a little bit thick, his erection still visibly straining against his jeans.

Sherlock visibly looked John up and down, still fighting to return to rationality as best as he could. With a nod he found himself biting his bottom lip, more slick coating his buttocks and John’s hand as he saw the nerves fade and a much more confident smile to come to his face.

“That's good,” he praised, shifting to lean back over the man’s lithe figure. “Because I don’t think we’re done here yet, do you?”

Sherlock found himself breathless, smiling ever so slightly as he leaned up to press his lips to John’s. “Of course not, John.” He grasped John’s hand and lowered it, encouraging the man to feel just how ready he was for the next step. No longer did either of them care if this was instinct or, perhaps, something more. There was just the need for each other. “Now, Alpha…” he trailed off and stretched, preening visibly and smirking at the dark flash in John’s eyes, “I believe you know what to do.”

“Oh yes, we’re far from being done.”


	4. Together.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter I was in Germany! Unfortunately halfway through this chapter my father had a heart attack, so forgive the quality. I may revisit this and edit with proper formatting in due time with a computer. For now, enjoy!

Sherlock’s lips quirked into a familiar smirk, his cool eyes now smoldering with the same molten heat that churned in his very core. It was an expression John had seen before, yet with a whole new definition and _god_ if he didn’t think the brunette was gorgeous. Hands roughened by years of labour wrapped around pale thighs and tugged, yanking the lanky man beneath him ever closer and drawing a gasp from bruised lips.

“You have _no_ idea what you do to me, Sherlock.” John growled softly, the sound deep and rumbly from within his chest. “Absolutely _no_ idea.”

“While that may have been the case, John,” Sherlock practically purred, once again stretching before the alpha’s eyes and taking delight in the sight of a pink tongue swiping over John’s top lip. “I do believe I can draw a conclusion from _this_.” Guiltlessly and shamelessly he glanced down, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed back a groan as he saw just how tented the other man’s jeans were.

“I’ll ask you one more time, are you definitely sure about this?”

“Your morality is inspiring, but do get on with it.”

John gave a bark of laughter, his eyes twinkling as he gave the detective’s thighs a squeeze and sat back on his haunches. “Yes, sir.”

The air between them thickened; a strange cocktail of gunpowder and honey, smoke and sweet, danger and home. John’s fingertips, calloused and rough, wove tales of battles in which the echoes of gunfire have long since passed as they spread across Sherlock’s abdomen in a gesture that was as much a statement of _mine_ as well as a request of permission. When the brunette sprawled below him gave a nod and arched into the touch, skilled digits traced invisible lines over bone and flesh and marked out the territory with a doctor’s eye. Like this, Sherlock could truly see the brave soldier, the caring doctor, the true alpha that lay beneath the surface. Sherlock was _desired_ and the thought didn’t make his stomach twist. No, the very thought caused his cock to twitch guiltlessly.

There came a tap on Sherlock’s side, a signal, _roll over, be good for me_. A grunt followed, then the order was obeyed; Sherlock’s giving a puff of effort as he settled amongst the blankets and raised his hips in invitation. Spreading his thighs he uttered a low purr in an instinctive gesture, enjoying the sharp inhale of breath behind him.

A click of a belt unbuckling was followed by the scuffling of denim being shoved over narrow hips and below; a bead of slick slid down the omega’s thigh.

“Fuck, you’re _ready_.” There was the sound of a cap popping and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, biting back the keen in the back of his throat as he caught sight of John smearing lubricant over his erection. John was staring at him with dark eyes, his upper lip curling with a silent snarl as his hand worked over his cock. The sight was far more arousing than Sherlock could have ever imagined.

Impatiently Sherlock tossed his head back and growled, pushing his torso upward as though to move from the submissive position when he was stopped. One arm wrapped around his waist, resting just below his bellybutton while the other reached upward, a hand clasping carefully around the detective’s throat. If he wanted to, the omega could quite easily break away, but the feeling of a warm body pressing against his back and lips caressing his scent gland made him moan in delight. Against his upper thigh he could feel John’s heavy cock brush against him, reducing him to breathless gasps and quivers of want.

“Stay _still_ ,” John ordered against the sensitive gland, running his tongue over it and noting the tingling in his tongue afterwards. “Don’t move an inch… good man.”

Appreciative of the lack of infantilism, Sherlock nodded and let his head fall back, keeping the rest of his body perfectly still for John’s approval. The hand resting below Sherlock’s naval slowly traced to the outside of his left leg, then behind him as he guided his cock to between the detective’s thighs. With a hushed grunt of something along the lines of fuck John’s rocked his hips, moaning as his cock glided between the creamy skin and glistened in a mix of lube and slick.

“God, Sherlock, you’re so…” he trailed off, lowering the hand from Sherlock’s throat to his right pectoral and gently rubbing a dusty nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The resultant whimper sent an electric shock straight through him, from the tip of his head to the ends of his toes, urging him onward.

Speaking itself was becoming an increasingly difficult challenge, John’s mind crumbling into a foggy haze of warmth. His limbs were on invisible strings, tugged and manipulated by every signal Sherlock’s body gave; every heave of his chest, every twitch of his cock, every look that just begged _take me_. It was as though rationality was being drained from him, in its place a bestial creature was coming to the front. A being guided by instinct, by the sweet scent that it was breathing in by the mouthful. With every wave of heat that rolled from Sherlock’s flesh, John found himself giving in to these carnal cravings.

The alpha’s rutting began to speed up, rough and without specific rhythm, the brunette's neck being littered with marks that only could mean mine. Teeth grazed against the length of his bare shoulder, desperately avoiding that specific gland no matter how the omega leaned into the attentions. John’s left hand trailed over the curve of Sherlock’s hip, wrapping around his twitching cock and pumping it.

“John!” Sherlock’s voice rose an octave, cracking as the brunette’s hips bucked forward with a renewed sensitivity thanks to the alpha’s ministrations. Unable to resist, he curled forward into that submissive position once again and gasped when John followed; the feeling of teeth nipping at the back of his neck enough for him to obediently go still. John’s hand and hips didn’t stop their movements, not until Sherlock was ready to beg, his usual pride falling to tatters amongst the sheets. “John, _please!_ I can't- _alpha_!”

The use of John’s title seemed to stir something within the man, his hips slowing and his hands swiftly pulling away. Once again, there was the pop of the lube cap opening and the sound of slick as John coated his cock once again, spreading the coating as evenly as he could with shaky hands. Finally, he lined up the head of his cock against Sherlock’s sphincter and relished the twitch he felt. For a beat he waited, looking down at the other man’s entrance as though transfixed, then slowly he began to sink into the whimpering man beneath him.

 _God_ the heat! It scorched John from the inside out, buzzing through his core and setting every nerve alight all at once. It drew a low moan from John’s lips as he forced himself to stop, panting as he looked down at the way Sherlock arched his back.

“Sherlock?” John grunted, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Worry shook him from his heated desire, a hand gently rubbing circles into the small of his back. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

A moan came from the body beneath him and the heat around his cock spasmed, drawing a surprised gasp from the alpha as his head rolled forward. His mouth fell open as he fought the urge to buck into the tightness around him, his breathing ragged as he tried to listen for Sherlock’s reply.

“Don’t stop-!” Sherlock was demanding, pushing his hips back in determination and sinking onto John’s cock. “John, _move_.”

Once again John felt like the marionette on the end of the strings, his hips sliding forward of their own accord as Sherlock pushed back until his balls made a satisfactory slap against Sherlock’s ass. Without missing a beat he pulled back, clamping his hands on the brunette’s hips to give him leverage as he slammed forwards once again; their moans filling the air in unison as the strange voice in the back of their minds screamed finally.

Every drag of John’s cock rubbed just right against Sherlock’s prostate, causing his cock to twitch and jerk between his legs and his eyes to close in bliss. The sensation itself was one that flooded through his body like the faintest ripple of an orgasm, building and getting stronger with every brutish buck of his hips. Sherlock felt weightless, floating on this pleasure high and only the touch of John’s hands and the caress of lips against his back kept him tethered to earth.

There was a send of urgency to their movements; John’s rough thrusts and Sherlock’s eager rocking. There was a lingering reminder in the depths of John’s mind, reminding him that this was to help Sherlock through the ‘misfortune that is omega biology’. But there was a lingering hope, for talks when the plague of aestus no longer tormented the usually composed detective. Talk of what this could mean for them, for their future. But, they had to reach that point.

It took not very long at all before Sherlock was gasping and grasping the blankets beneath him with a white-knuckled grip, his face morphed into an expression of ecstasy. John wasn’t too far behind him, panting and grunting as they moved together and his knot bumped against the tight ring of muscle; Sherlock gave a pleased sound and pushed back all the harder as he realised what it was. With each bump of their hips the alpha’s knot pressed firmer against Sherlock’s entrance, the omega climbing higher and higher until he came with a hoarse cry. A single thrust later, John’s knot slipped inside and the blond’s orgasm shook him to the core, his climax washing over him in spurts and sapping his strength swiftly.

Together they panted, trying to recover their breath. Sweat glistened over their bodies and their chests heaved, thighs quivering with exertion. Sherlock’s head twisted a fraction, glancing at John from over his shoulder, and John met his gaze with a dazed smile.  
“Are you… alright? Sherlock?”

Sherlock didn’t respond at first, breaking their eye contact in favour of grimacing at the mess on the sheets. He clumsily shifted, nudging John back so he could clear the sheets just enough for the pair to collapse together. “My sheets are ruined.”

“I’ll buy you some new ones, you berk. _Wait_ -,” he paused, the sound of a vibration catching him off guard. “Is that your phone?”

“It’s nothing, John. I’m not taking any calls while we deal with my heat.”

“Sherlock! Why is Mycroft _and_ Lestrade trying to contact you!?”

“Stop being dull, John. Instead, focus on me. On us.”

“Sherlock I- _ooh…_ ”

For the following week both Sherlock and John faced countless waves together, time melting away into pleasure and heat and the occasional break for a shower. Little did they know, this heat was the start of many chain events that would shake their world apart, dragging in the British Government and Scotland Yard themselves into a web much larger than any of them realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the final chapter is done! However, the story is far from over! John and Sherlock are about to be plunged into a whole new disaster, dragging the Government and the Yard with them. If you wish to read more of our boys in this world, please stick around for future parts of this series!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, liking, subbing, and commenting! Until next time!


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